


Tremulous and Tender

by wynnebat



Series: Author's Favorites [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Harrymort, Sane Voldemort, Voldemort-style fluffy feelings, magical baby acquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: The whole idea pushes the limits of his imagination. Himself, the great Lord Voldemort, with children.





	Tremulous and Tender

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @tomarrymort [monthly prompt](https://tomarrymort.tumblr.com/tagged/tmdprompts) #2: The Music of the Night ([youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77umP7IRxD4)). At first I thought I'd do a Voldemort seducing Harry fic, but I also really love the concept of Voldemort thoroughly, inescapably falling for Harry, so here that is.

The last remaining temple of magic is an old, crumbling thing, hidden deep in an ancient magical forest. As thoroughly concealed as it was, neither muggles nor magicals had stepped foot in it in centuries before Hermione Granger uncovered its location. It had taken her Department of Magical Innovation nearly a year to catalog the flora and fauna of the expansive forest—many species of which had long-since become extinct in the rest of the world—and discover the temple at its very heart.

“I’m not one for spiritual nonsense,” Granger had couched her enthusiasm when she’d first reported her findings, “But there’s so much power in the air, enough that it should be overwhelming, but it’s not. It’s the most peaceful place I’ve ever been in.”

Voldemort hadn’t taken her very seriously then, but he’d approved her request for more funding for the project. At best, he’d hoped for a revival of a few magical species. At worst, well. There was little he could do to Granger even if the project fell through. He’d never hear the end of it at home.

Now, he steps through the entrance of the temple, feels the power for himself, and represses the way the whole structure makes him want to lash out. He is the Dark Lord, he is the minister of magic, he is immortal. There should be no higher power above him and yet here he must bow to the presence he feels. Ancient, most likely sentient magic meets his own and sends him the kind of adoration that one has for children. The great Lord Voldemort is tiny compared to it.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Harry asks from beside him. “It’s so warm.” He stretches his hands out as if to touch the magic.

Voldemort finds the gesture mostly irritating and slightly charming. That’s no surprise, since he feels those two emotions on a daily basis when it comes to his husband. “It’s suffocating.”

Husband. Merlin, he should’ve put a stop to this nonsense two years ago, before they’d had the chance to marry. Because now they’re here and Harry is sitting down on one of the two pedestals in the temple’s main room. Voldemort has no recourse but to take his seat on the other one and smooth over his expression.

“Last chance to back out,” Harry says from his seat two meters away. “I’ll— if you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand.”

 _He_ _’s too far away,_ Voldemort thinks, and blames the ridiculous thought on the temple’s magics. He and Harry spend much of their day away from each other anyway as they work to smooth over the problems of their governance of the British magical world. The takeover had been six years ago, but wizarding society has never been good at accepting change. Ironically, it’s the muggleborns who do best with change, all those who hadn’t fled the country years ago.

Voldemort holds Harry’s gaze one last time before they begin. “You ask an inordinate number of ridiculous things of me on a daily basis.”

“I do _not_ ,” Harry instantly says. “And if I do, it’s because I’m giving you good advice like telling you that mass _Crucio_ -ing all our ministry employees daily is a terrible way to keep morale and productivity high! Even if you call it pacifistic nonsense.”

“It is,” Voldemort tells him, because while he ended up agreeing to Harry’s terms (and had been secretly slightly swayed by Granger’s hundred-page paper on the ineffectiveness of long-term torture), it doesn’t mean he agreed to be happy about it. “As I was saying, you make all sorts of requests of me, but it is often on behalf of your compassion for others, whether you admit to it or not. This time it is selfish.” His lip quirks at the way Harry instantly opens his mouth to argue. “I want that. I want you to tell me what _you_ want, and I want to grant you it. Not out of any altruism of my own, but because you are mine.”

From this distance, Voldemort can’t see the joy in Harry’s eyes, but he can see the smile on his lips. “You dick. Stop being romantic in your own creepy way when I can’t go over there and kiss you.”

“You could,” Voldemort tells him. They haven’t started yet.

“No, we’re doing this.” And there it is, that firmness, that hope. Harry’s green eyes close and his head bows as he begins to find a meditative state.

Voldemort watches him for longer than he should. He needs to do the same, to close his eyes and ask the temple to fulfill its purpose, but all he can do is think that that this whole visit is a different kind of selfishness. No matter what he said to Harry, it won’t work. Not for them. It has worked for others—Granger and Weasley had been the first, and various couples and trios and occasionally more followed—but it’s madness to sit here and wait for nothing.

Granger nearly had a stroke when she’d translated the texts in this temple of magic and learned that the structure is capable of providing a child to those it finds worthy and capable. Voldemort can admit to having similar feelings, but threaded through his shock had been satisfaction. This is exactly what they need in order to replenish the numbers of those who’d left Britain once he and Harry had won their war.

And yet…

Voldemort rarely admits to faults or incapabilities, even in his own mind.

But he cannot touch a unicorn, he cannot pick from the tree of life, and he cannot pretend to himself that he is either capable or worthy of having a child. He doesn’t particularly like children. They’re loud, sticky little things. He hasn’t had cause to interact with a child for longer than a moment since he was a child himself, but he still remembers how vexing they are. He doesn’t even need a child. Not because of a drive to reproduce nor to create an heir. The Slytherin line will prosper as long as he lives and that will be forever.

The whole idea pushes the limits of his imagination. Himself, the great Lord Voldemort, with children.

Closing his eyes out of an emotion he’d rather not name, though he doesn’t even try to enter a meditative state, Voldemort acknowledges that the only reason he’s here is Harry. His husband had never been pushy about the subject, but Voldemort has long known that Harry likes the thought of forming his own family. When they first started having sex, it hadn't mattered because it was a temporary thing, just two men getting each other off and plotting to take over the wizarding world together. Voldemort hadn't even been sold on the concept of Harry as his equal back then. A war later, they were co-rulers, and Voldemort had let his guard down and feelings had seeped in through the pores of his skin.

By now, it’s too late to flush them out. The thought of Harry being with another drives him mad, but he knows how easily _that_ Weasley could’ve given Harry half a dozen Weasley babies. Without argument, with enthusiastic affection. Voldemort can never say the same. He hadn’t even wanted Harry to use a surrogate, hating the thought of his husband sharing that sort of bond with another person. 

Lord Voldemort is a selfish creature. Caring doesn’t come easily to him.

Sitting here now, he knows he should've simply swallowed down his possessiveness and had Harry find a surrogate. He would've overcome his emotions about Harry's genes mixing with another's if he never had to see the woman's face or know her identity. Maybe Harry would’ve chosen one who resembled the young man that Voldemort had once been, but now barely remembered being. It would have been better than sitting here and knowing Harry's hopes will soon be dashed.

Voldemort opens his eyes, looking over at Harry, who is deep in meditation. If Harry could produce a child all on his lonesome, Voldemort is sure the temple’s magic would’ve granted him his wish immediately. Harry has all the makings of a good father—and unlike Voldemort, he wholeheartedly wants a child, has wanted one for years now.

Surely the ritual will realize how unevenly matched they are, no matter how tightly Voldemort has bound Harry to him.

There is something empty in his chest as he wonders what Harry will think when magic itself refuses to allow them this.

Harry won’t leave him, of that Voldemort is certain, for his husband has dug his teeth into him as tightly as Voldemort has in return. He will only be melancholy. Perhaps he’ll even grow weary each year as he does on every Halloween, vanishing off to spend the day alone and returning to Voldemort’s bed with tear stains on his cheeks.

The whole idea is intolerable.

 _He_ _’s worthy and capable,_ Voldemort thinks at the magic of the temple. _Enough for the both of us. I can promise to never touch the child if you give it to him_. There’s that unbearable warmth around him again, cradling him like an overbearing matron. _I could swear an Unbreakable Vow to never harm it._ He’ll even leave the vow at that, no clauses about being able to harm it if the child harms him first. These days, he has more than horcruxes keeping him immortal. The child wouldn’t be able to kill him, and everything less than that, Voldemort can come back from. Strangely, he doesn’t truly fear the child harming him. Harry would raise it with love. He’d teach it to love, even. The ritual willing, there could one day be a child with half of Voldemort’s genes that knows how to love selflessly. Perhaps it would even love Lord Voldemort himself. It’s an odd thought. Voldemort doesn’t need anyone’s love but Harry’s, and yet he does enjoy his subjects’ adoration. He could learn to enjoy a child’s love.

Voldemort can put his mind to anything. With enough practice, he might even be able to learn to love the child back.

It’s nothing close to worthy and capable, but it’s all he has.

It’s not enough, of course. He could sit here until the leaves turn red again and he’ll still be the same man he is now. Lord of all he sees; unworthy of this one thing.

Magic swirls around him and Voldemort expects to be cast out of the temple. It’s happened twice when those deemed unworthy have tried to ask for a child. Something shriveled and cold clenches in his chest. Maybe it’s for his own selfish reasons, but he wants to be worthy. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything except Harry and immortality. _Can_ _’t that be enough?_

“Vee,” Harry says from somewhere nearby, his voice hushed.

He isn’t yelling, but Harry isn’t the type to yell when it comes to disappointments bone-deep. He’ll just call Voldemort by that stupid nickname and tell him that he doesn’t need this to be happy.

Maybe if Voldemort gets the Unspeakables on it, they’ll find a way to fix the temple so that it will just give him what he needs—

A child’s cry rings through the temple.

Voldemort opens his eyes. Harry is already holding it, a child swathed in a thick purple cloth. There is fear different from any he’s ever felt in his chest as Harry approaches him, but at least Harry knows not to try to offer the child to him yet. It is a small, loud thing of indeterminate gender and bright green eyes. It has Harry’s nose instead of Voldemort’s lack of one, which threatens to raise hysterical laughter in him.

“I call naming rights,” Harry quickly says through a soft smile.

 _I don_ _’t care,_ Voldemort wants to say. _It doesn_ _’t matter. I didn’t even want it anyway._ But he says, “Nothing ridiculous. And not after your parents.”

It isn’t much. But maybe it’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


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